My Dear Frodo
by HangSonDoong
Summary: In Rivendell, Bilbo tells Frodo the parts of his story which no one else will hear. These parts mostly revolve around a certain King of the Dwarves, and how Bilbo thoroughly broke Hobbit customs, but was very happy in doing so. This leads to Frodo discovering something about himself and about Sam Gamgee, and Elrond shaking his head over the habits of hobbits. Spoilers for the book!


In Rivendell, Bilbo tells Frodo the parts of his story which no one else will hear. These parts mostly revolve around a certain King of the Dwarves, and how Bilbo thoroughly broke Hobbit customs, but was very happy in doing so.

Bilbo interrupted quickly, "Now don't think I never noticed you watching Master Samwise when you two were younger. I never spoke with you about matters of the heart, Frodo, and for that I am sorry; I was unwise, or perhaps lacking in bravery. For I, out of the many hobbits in the Shire, could have counseled you on your... feelings.

Many thanks to my beta, the Bilbo Baggins to my Smaug the Golden, bigbluepudding. I promise to write you some nice Chekhov/Sulu as a reward!

I don't own any of this other than the words themselves. My dearest apologies to Mr. Tolkien for the theft of his beloved characters.

SPOILERS for the entirety of The Hobbit, and the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring.

* * *

I.

"'Of course!' said Gandalf. 'And why should not the prophecies prove true? Surely you don't disbelieve them simply because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself? You don't really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!'

"'Thank goodness for that!' I said, laughing." Thus finished Bilbo in a surprisingly clear, even youthful, voice. "Now, my boy, what do you think?"

He closed the heavy leather cover of the Red Book.

Frodo Baggins sat, rapt, on the smooth paving-stones of a balcony of Rivendell, high over the valley of Imladris. As soon as he had recovered enough from his Weathertop wound and had performed his part in the fine Elven dinners, Frodo had insisted his Uncle Bilbo read the finished tale of his adventures all the way through.

"It's wonderful, Uncle!" the younger hobbit said eagerly. "Only... The letter you left for me. You said that you hadn't told me everything. This was beautiful, but - I do believe I've heard all of it before."

Bilbo laughed, the new little lines in his face that Frodo had never seen deepening with his wide smile and happy eyes. "Oh, my lad, you are quick. Of course I didn't write down those parts in this book! No, this little red book will remain like this, always nearly finished, but not quite. I couldn't possibly write about my adventures in their entirety!"

"Why not?" Frodo asked, confused.

Looking around the Elven courtyard as though searching for spying eyes, Bilbo replied, "Because some of my story will only ever be heard by you, my dear Frodo. For I do not think anyone else would understand."

Now Frodo's brow was creased with worry. "What happened, Bilbo? Please, tell me!"

But Bilbo ruffled his adoptive heir's curly hair and warned him: "Now, Frodo, this is nothing to worry about me over, but you must understand, it has much to do with you."

"With me? How?"

"Well, with you and that Samwise Gamgee," the older hobbit explained cautiously.

Frodo, who had still not relaxed his tensed back, stiffened even further, saying, "How could Sam possibly -" but was quickly cut off by his uncle's gentle hand.

"Now don't think I never noticed you watching Master Samwise when you two were younger. I never spoke with you about matters of the heart, and for that I am sorry; I was unwise, or perhaps lacking in bravery. For I, out of the many hobbits in the Shire, could have counseled you on your...feelings. And now, now that I have seen the way he looked at you while you were so wounded by that cold, cruel blade - yes, it is time."

While Bilbo was speaking, Frodo's face had been turning bright red. He managed to mumble, "When, when did you realize-?"

Bilbo Baggins smiled again and spoke reassuringly. "All in good time, my boy. All in good time... Now, sit back down and let me begin once more while there is still light in the sky here in Rivendell."

II.

"Did you know, when the dwarves of Dain's company searched the lower levels of Erebor after the great battle, they found the old throne of Thror? It was cracked and hewn from its base, but still usable. Not that they ever did - use it, that is. It was placed in lonely tribute on the shelf of The Doorstep high on the mountainside, and it is said that great spells were cast to prevent any being from sitting there ever again.

"The only king who could ever have occupied that shining black seat was my King under the Mountain, Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror. Dain knew this, and had a new, more modest throne constructed for himself.

"But what you must understand, my dear Frodo, is that I was never quite so deluded as to believe that a second, smaller seat could been set up beside Thorin's own for me, had the end not turned out so horrible for us as it did. And I think, somewhere deep down, he knew that too.

"Nor did I ever think that he could be content in my second-best armchair beside the hearth-fire in Bag-End. But we never let that stop us..."

Frodo, now sitting close to Bilbo on the carved-stone bench, asked incredulously, "Uncle, do you mean- "

Bilbo simply ignored Frodo's words, with a knowing look aimed at him nephew that quieted his curiosity, and began to explain: "It started at the Carrock, when our leader arose from his injured sleep, and he immediately began to berate me for saving him from the orc-guard of Azog..."

III.

"Thorin's face was harsh and cruel, his words equally so. His quiet anger stung me, as he called me foolish and useless. I wondered, desperately and with much confusion, why he would condemn my actions. I'd only done what needed to be done, after all. Thorin had been wounded, lying eyes-closed on the ground, and with that hideous goblin holding its knife over his limp body, I couldn't have turned away. I had just tried to drive the thing off - I was the closest after all.

"And now our exalted leader glared thunderously at me, with the weight of the company all behind him, and I, alone, stood brittle and cold. I'm sure my face betrayed me; I'd only wanted him not to be hurt any more, and this tirade of his had my cheeks stiff with sadness and shame. I swallowed.

"But Thorin paused, and then nearly broke into a soft smile, and took all the painful words away with a richly worded admittance of 'I have never been so wrong in all my life.' I had barely a second before his arms were around me, and my stunned face was tucked against his strong shoulder. My hands fell naturally to clasp him to me, one over his arm, the other under, nearer his waist. He skimmed his lips over my ear, and whispered in a ragged voice: 'I will repay my debt.'"

"He then said louder, with enough volume for the company to hear. 'I am sorry I doubted you.'

"I felt frozen between shock and an odd tinge of pleasure, as he leaned away and grasped my arms near the shoulders and held me still in front of him. I looked up into his eyes, which were dark with some dwarven emotion: possessiveness or a deep gladness, I think. I tipped up the corners of my mouth tentatively in response.

"Thorin's eager eyes, however, were now focused at some spot over the top of my head, and I turned around to follow his gaze. The others of our company came to stand behind us, placing me at their leader's left hand, as we looked in wonder at the single, solitary peak off in the blue distance. Eyes flickering down warmly to meet mine, Thorin grinned.

IV.

"As the new day dawned, we wound our way down from the great steep heights of that rock, down to the river below. It was slow work, especially with our many injuries of battle, and we only made a little progress east along the river afterward, before the mountains seemed to eat the sun as it sailed west, and we were forced to stop for the night. Bofur found us a large rocky overhang edging up on the river-bank, where two members of the company could sit as guards and see nearly anything approaching us. As soon as we'd decided on this campsite, Thorin announced his need to bathe in the river around the bend so he could wash his wounds - which none of us begrudged him, of course.

"But before he disappeared into the shadowed eastern woods, he cast a look in my direction that seemed both distant from reality and yet somehow inviting. So I left my remaining gear next to Fili's and Kili's and snuck quietly after our leader. Gandalf was perhaps the only one to see me leave, and merely tilted his brow at me, saying nothing.

"I found Thorin still clothed in all his battle-wear save Orcist, scrubbing his face too harshly with his hands. Unsurprised, but displeased with his lack of care for himself, I stepped out from between the trees and told him in no uncertain terms, 'Thorin. Leader of our company you may be, but you are not too proud to take help with healing. Let me...'

"He, like Gandalf had before, looked at me skeptically, but he did not protest when I pushed his thick furs off his shoulders and wet the edge of the lining fabric to gently wash the blood off his face. I would only realize quite how rare this was much later - Thorin's pride was, unbeknownst to me, a thing to be feared. But he only sat on his stone and allowed me to tend to him.

"Thorin's shadowed face was framed in shallow red cuts, but these were not the wounds that had troubled him today. I could tell from the way he held himself - forcibly still, unmoving on his left side - that the warg's bite was not so harmless as he would have us believe. Thinking Thorin would be likelier to be compliant if surprised, I lifted his hauberk up from his waist and slid it over his head as quickly and painlessly as possible. He still hissed in pain, but his words were teasing and friendly: 'Very forward of you, Master Baggins.'

"Not knowing what to do with this dwarf, who seemed to have lost a great deal of his dark, disagreeable demeanor, I blushed and knelt down to examine the deeper bruises of the white wolf's teeth in Thorin's side. As I worked, rinsing clear water into the angry, purpling wounds and dressing them with strips of cloth torn from my rather useless waistcoat, I mumbled a quiet litany of 'it's going to be fine, not bad this, you'll be fine, really' without lifting my eyes. When I did call up the courage to look up to Thorin's face, I was quite surprised by its tenderness. But there was a wicked glint in my leader's dark eyes, and I realized the inappropriateness of my position.

"A Baggins on his knees! A Baggins, on his knees, in front of a grim dwarf lord whose smile was a mix of intimidating and intimate. I should have left - stood up and walked back to camp and had a smoke with Gandalf. But I didn't. I let Thorin pull me up with his battle-roughened hands and press a kiss to my shocked lips.

"Of course I'd been kissed before - few hobbits can escape it when they have mischievous Tooks as relatives. But this was nothing like a chaste peck from a hobbit lass or even a boisterous tumble with another lad. Thorin was strong, and warm, and his frame could wrap around me even without his bulky furs. I saw that without the hauberk I'd pulled off to dress his wounds, Thorin wore only a thin vest that laced loosely up the front, and I could feel his chest tight against mine. I took in a rather desperate breath.

"I hadn't really been involved in this clash of lips yet, but now I felt a truly urgent need to place my hands around Thorin's face and simply hold him to me. His cheeks were flushed, as I assume mine were, when I stroked my fingers over the stubble of his skin. To refrain from moaning was impossible; I made a low sound in the back of my throat as I felt his hands come up to cradle the back of my neck. I was just gathering my courage to deepen the kiss when I heard an ominous cough behind me.

"Thorin barely moved, but I turned around so quickly my vision blurred. Balin stood on the rocky outcropping beside the shore, his hands folded over his chest: his face was stormy. 'By Durin's hammer, Thorin! What do you think you're doing?' he asked with a deeply disappointed twist of his mouth above that white beard. I felt limp and scared like I hadn't since running out of Bag End without a handkerchief; I could feel Balin's glare more sharply that any goblin weapon.

"But Thorin, beside me, straightened up and replied with all the weight of his position, 'I am thanking this halfling, Master Balin, for his courage in saving me. I know not what affair of yours this is.'

"His voice was clear and proud, far more so than mine when I looked nervously between the two dwarves and mumbled an apology. The apologetic phrase 'I'm s-sorry - I meant no disservice to our-' tumbled unbidden out of my mouth, half-finished.

"At that Balin gave me an exceedingly odd look. He then turned toward Thorin, and his mouth was less twisted and angry. 'And are your thanks... welcomed?' he inquired.

"Thorin looked down at me with the same warmth that he had on the great hill Gandalf called the Carrock. I blushed as I realized the implications of Balin's question, but nodded my assent quickly. Giving voice to my nod, Thorin said to Balin, 'Aye.'

"Looking at the pair of us, Balin shook his head, but the gleam in his eyes was merry once more, and only the slightest bit suspicious. His next words were quieter, directed at me: 'My Lord Thorin is correct - it is no one's business but your own, and I shall leave you to your thanks shortly. But know this, lad - you cannot keep this from the company. In fact, I do not advise you to try.' Without another word, he took his leave.

"Thorin and I stared at each other for a tense moment, and then we abruptly began to laugh. He chuckled deeply as I nearly giggled in relief. Kissing me quickly once more, Thorin began to pull me back toward camp. 'Another time, Master Burglar?' he said, grinning. I flushed and nodded once more; words seemed to have left me, because nothing but heartbeat thrummed in my ears.

"Nothing much seemed changed around the little bay of rock since we had left our dwarven companions. Gloin had started a fire, and Bofur was helping Bombur set up a roasting spit. Feeling disoriented by the normality of our group in contrast to my leaping heart, my eyes bounced between Thorin and my undisturbed sword marking my sleeping spot. Thorin evidently saw my confusion, because he strode quickly over to the place he'd left Orcrist to mark his absent bedroll, and patted the ground beside himself. I took up my small pile of gear, mainly my letter opener, and placed it next to our leader's, as requested. Gandalf, of course, raised his eyebrows so high that they were invisible behind his pointy hat at this change of sleeping arrangements.

"And from that point in our quest until our full occupation of the mountain of Erebor, our bedding was arranged thus. No member of the company questioned it, not even Gandalf, and any odd looks sent my way were warm ones: knowing, in the case of Balin, and unknowing but pleased, from others such as Kili and Bofur.

"Thorin Oakenshield slept curled around me in the wastelands both west and east of Mirkwood, in the houses of Beorn and the Master of Laketown, even once - on a darkened night - in the dungeons of the Elvenking. We said nothing to each other that we did not say to the rest of the company, and any more kisses were swift and stolen, but we were together, and all knew of it. As well you know, he died in my arms.

"Do you see, my dear Frodo, why I kept this from you all those long years, and why I tell it to you know?"

V.

Frodo had, by this point, pulled his knees up to his chest, and his eyes were wide and stunned. "So you and Thorin-" he asked, haltingly.

"Yes," Bilbo replied with a quiet nod. "I'm sure it is no secret among the dwarves, for it broke none of their traditions, and we never hid ourselves from our loyal companions, but it was not something to be bragged about in the Shire. But you of all hobbits have earned the right to know."

A bit of the tale's spell had faded from Frodo, and he came back to himself, saying, "I always wondered if there was someone for you to have. Now I am only sad that I never had the chance to meet him." Frodo smiled, the sadness he spoke of lingering slightly in his eyes.

The older hobbit leaned back and spoke wistfully: "I would have liked that. He would have thought you far more promising than he did me, at first. He would have liked your longing for adventure. Your courage, your sense of duty."

With great fondness, Frodo leaned in and hugged his uncle. "You said you were together until your full occupation of Erebor. Did you and Thorin ever-?"

Laughing, Bilbo struggled to get his arm out from Frodo's embrace to ruffle the younger hobbit's hair. "Cheeky boy! Yes, we did, as you might imagine. But Frodo, there is something you have probably not heard of the dwarves."

VI.

"Balin told me once, on one of his first visits to Bag End with Gandalf after the adventure, that dwarves lie with - love, touch, marry - only one person over the course of their long lives. I did not know this when I took Thorin in my arms, but I think it now both a blessing and a curse. I will never doubt his affection for me, but I will forever carry the burden of regrets; not for myself, but for Thorin. I had no desire to be with another once I returned to the Shire, and I look back on my time with my dwarf king with only great pleasure, but the king who sits on the throne of Erebor is no son of Thorin Oakenshield's, for I would never have been able to give him one.

"This will not be a worry for you. You and Sam may do as you please with each other and if the world changes around you, your love may change with it, by lessening or becoming stronger. You will both have many options Thorin and I did not," Bilbo finished. His hands had moved to grasp his nephew's forearms tightly.

The elderly hobbit thought back to the first night that Thorin Oakenshield and Co. spent in the cavernous halls of Erebor's heart.

Afraid to venture into the horrors the smaller chambers held, most of the company stayed amongst the disordered piles of gold which formerly held a dragon, but not so Thorin and Bilbo. Thorin had dragged his companion around columns and corridors of smooth black stone. The passages grew ever smaller and smaller, until the dwarf lord reached an angular black door standing slightly open.

Thorin had then halted his eager movements. He bowed, ushering Bilbo into the room before himself. Before the stone door was even fully shut, the hobbit had found himself pushed passionately against its inner side and kissed. He gave back as good as he got, running his fingers through Thorin's dark, wavy hair. They remained tangled in each other, struggling with the ties of their clothing and enjoying the heat of each other's mouths, until Thorin pulled back.

Bilbo Baggins had never quite understood what made Thorin, the revered prince of his people, touch him with such affection. But at that point, when the stern dwarf looked at him, Thorin's eyes were unutterably deep and kind. He stroked a calloused finger, first, over Bilbo's tipped-up nose, then his slightly-parted lips, then the creases around his excited eyes. "You are so rare," Thorin said, "like a gem buried in stone, turned so that its lovely facets are hidden until the craftsman chips away the foundation."

Bilbo remembered gasping, confused, unable to ask what Thorin meant, even with breathless whispers.

But Thorin had replied nonetheless: with his lips and his teeth and his clever fingers, working Bilbo's tattered velvet jacket and other well-worn garments off the hobbit's slim frame. Bilbo was left standing, back still against the door, in naught but his newly-received mithril-armor coat.

But not for long. Thorin tugged him gently over to the remains of a great carven-stone bed, still draped in thick furs. They had tumbled down onto the bed, as Bilbo pulled at Thorin's garments until skin could press against skin, with only the fine, cold mithril between them. Bilbo bent, with some hesitation, to remove that also, but Thorin stopped his trembling hands, saying lovingly, "Keep it, my princeling."

Bilbo had breathed out slightly in relief, and returned to his task of kissing his way up the dwarf lord's neck. Rolling until Bilbo was atop him, Thorin stretched himself out submissively upon the furs. A rhythm pulsed between them, and each gasped at the force of it, pressing closer together.

Thorin then put a hand on his companion's shoulder and begged, with as much dignity as he could muster, "Take me, Master Baggins. I am yours."

The hobbit looked at the dwarf lord laid out so willingly and openly beneath him, and froze. Images of the wounded Thorin, cradled in an eagle's talons, collapsed on the Carrock, flooded his mind, and the fierce king who seemed so mighty minutes ago now felt far too fragile. Bilbo had shifted away in worry for his leader. "I cannot," he said.

Thorin's noble brow had furrowed. "Do you not desire to– have me?" The words that in any other mouth would have sounded vulnerable left Thorin's lips only with the taste of deepest regret.

Bilbo rushed to reassure his companion: "No– no! I worry for you; I know not what I am doing, and I do not wish to hurt you."

At this, Thorin Oakenshield smiled, and took Bilbo's right hand between both of his own. "You will not hurt me, kind one. Mine is a race built not to be broken, and yours, a race built only to create and never to destroy. We will learn this, together."

And they had. Bilbo had worked his way into Thorin with soft kisses and slow, rolling thrusts, until the two were bound together in their utmost depths. Upon the dwarf prince's bed, they grasped each other and moved with their earlier, inexorable rhythm. It was like the shift of rocks within the heart of the mountain, or lazy waves upon the shores of the sea.

Bilbo rocked himself in and out in stunned pleasure, scarcely believing his actions to be real. Picking up in speed, his love and his arousal had poured out of him until he was utterly spent...

VII.

"Bilbo?"

The elderly hobbit returned to the present, to a cold bench in the growing dusk of Imladris. Frodo was gently shaking his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, my lad. I went away for a while, didn't I?" Bilbo wore a small, nostalgic smile.

Frodo's head tilted as he sat, watching. "You truly loved him," the young hobbit said. It was not a question.

"Yes," Bilbo replied simply, though no answer was needed. "And you needed to know this, my dear Frodo, because the same look that I saw in my love's eyes when he looked at me– I have seen this look in you, when you gaze at young Samwise. Go to him! Wherever your paths lead you from this Last Homely House, your journey will be better if he is by your side."

Frodo grinned. "I will, Uncle! If you are sure– this will not displease him?"

"Not ever," Bilbo assured, hand strong on Frodo's shoulder. "He worships you."

"Thank you, thank you!" the younger hobbit said with great joy, and disappeared into the gathering dark.

VIII.

Elrond stood upon his grand upper balcony, looking out onto Rivendell. From these high chambers, he could see all of the open rooms laid out beneath him: the main public study, where Lindir and Elrohir sat arguing over a series of maps; the dining room, where Aragorn consulted with the hobbit Peregrin on some of Bilbo's old songs; a set of darkened hallways, where Glorfindel and his husband Erestor were making excellent use of the darkness; and a wide lower balcony, where Samwise Gamgee sat looking at the stars.

If the next day's council went as Elrond expected, at least one hobbit would be leaving Rivendell, not for home, but for the unknown east. The Ring had to be destroyed. No man, not even Elrond's foster son Aragorn, could be trusted to carry the Ring to Mordor, nor could any elf or dwarf alone. A wizard – a disaster. No, a hobbit must bear this burden.

And if Elrond admitted it to himself, he knew that that hobbit must be Frodo. Much as he recognized the heart and warmth in the other younger hobbits, none of them were prepared for this painful task. Bilbo, Elrond knew, would offer to fulfill his duty, destroy that horror which he was responsible for finding, but that would be the worst choice of all. That elderly, weakened hobbit deserved, more than anyone, the shelter and peace of Imladris. And if Frodo was to bear the Ring, Elrond suspected, Sam would want to follow.

Shaking his head at the eagerness he remembered in those eyes, Elrond looked back toward the star-struck young hobbit. He saw Sam turn, responding to some unheard sound from the buildings behind him. Frodo stepped out from beneath the cloisters, reaching toward Sam. Their hands clasped.

Elrond saw the hobbits exchange a few quiet words that even his clever elven ears couldn't pick out, and then Frodo lifted his hands, still intertwined with Sam's, and set them on his own chest in a gesture of offering. Sam took an eager half-step forward, and then pulled the dark-haired hobbit lad into his arms. They embraced, lips against lips, walking slowly back toward the bench, where Sam wound up with a lap-full of his Frodo.

With a raised eyebrow and a resigned sigh, Elrond turned away from the balcony altogether. Well, they'd certainly be impossible to separate now.


End file.
